


Tinted Windows

by insertnerdyjokehere



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 00:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertnerdyjokehere/pseuds/insertnerdyjokehere
Summary: Crowley liked playing his cards close to his chest, he didn’t like others knowing what his next move would be. His eyes were always an obvious give away, broadcasting his emotions for everyone to see, reflexively shifting to look at what he wanted most. Sunglasses let him even the playing field.When wearing sunglasses Crowley made three assumptions: that his eyes were shielded from the sun, that no one could see past the lens into his eyes, and that he looked cool. Two of these were right; sunglasses were made to protect one’s eyes from the harsh rays of the sun and most people found his glasses very fashionable.





	Tinted Windows

**Author's Note:**

> Forever thanks to my beta seterasilence.

It has been said that eyes are the windows to the soul. This for the most part is true, although this implies eyes are the only way to get to the soul when really there are as many ways to the soul as there are feathers in a flock of geese. Yet eyes certainly are the most convenient access point. And like eyes, there are many different types of windows. Any window maker worth their salt would be able to tell you that. 

Some homes have small windows that hardly let any light in while some have long picture windows that easily capture expansive views of the countryside. There are bay windows that provide a welcoming place to sit and relax while there are also door peepholes that offer only a glimpse of the world beyond the threshold. They come in different shapes and sizes and colors, but all serve a similar purpose of letting those on the inside see out. Unfortunately, this comes with the unpleasant side effect of those outside being able to see in. Which is why, of course, curtains were invented. 

The demon named Crowley didn’t have windows so much as an entire house made of glass. His eyes were wide and expressive and did nothing by means of preventing him from barring his very soul to those who made eye contact. The only physical attribute that showed his true demonic nature, a glimpse at his snake form.

Therefore, it makes sense that he would need very large curtains in order to ever have any sense of privacy. Hence the sunglasses.

Crowley liked playing his cards close to his chest, he didn’t like others knowing what his next move would be. His eyes were always an obvious give away, broadcasting his emotions for everyone to see, reflexively shifting to look at what he wanted most. Sunglasses let him even the playing field. 

When wearing sunglasses Crowley made three assumptions: that his eyes were shielded from the sun, that no one could see past the lens into his eyes, and that he looked cool. Two of these were right; sunglasses were made to protect one’s eyes from the harsh rays of the sun and most people found his glasses very fashionable.

*

It was a regular day at St. James Park. That is to say, it was a day at St. James Park that was able to be regular due to the lack of apocalypse some odd weeks ago. 

Sitting on a bench were what could _not_ only be described as two men enjoying the fair weather. They could be described as many different things and had been over the last 6,000 years. Demon, Serpent of Eden, foul fiend, plant enthusiast. Angel, Guard of the Eastern Gate, bookshop owner, bad dancer. But long story short, there were two beings sitting on a bench, having a pleasant conversation while watching the ducks. 

“What do you reckon ducks dream about?” Crowley casually asked. His body was facing the pond and his head was turned slightly toward the right, as if watching the ducks swim around in the water. In reality, his gaze lingered on the angel that sat beside him, keeping an attentive watch on the soft smile that graced his face. “Bread crumbs? The state of the economy? The-”

“Oh!” Aziraphale sat up suddenly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, my dear, I’ve been practicing a new magic trick!” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers and gave Crowley a bright smile that promised an immediate demonstration of what was sure to be not actual magic, but the farce that humans liked to perform for the entertainment of _children_.

Crowley rolled his eyes and, since the angel couldn’t see them, carried the motion up to his eyebrows and down through his shoulders to really get the point across. “Angel, please. Don’t-” The protest was half-hearted as Crowley had already accepted his fate and was putting up a show just as much as Aziraphale was about to. “It’s embarrassing for an-” but it was too late, with a flourish his angel produced a deck of playing cards from seemingly nowhere. 

This caught Crowley’s attention and he sat up from his slouch, “I’ve got to give you credit, that was actually impressive, how’d you manage that?” He raised his eyebrows and seemed genuinely intrigued as he turned more toward him. 

“No,” Aziraphale’s smile faltered “that wasn’t- I mean- I actually miracled those.” Crowley let out a scoff and slouched back down, throwing his arms over the back of the bench and feigning disinterest.

Safely guarded from the angel behind the sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes soften to what could only be called genuine affection. Aziraphale shook out his frown and the smile was back, brighter than before. He went on with his trick, regaining his confidence as he somewhat deftly passed cards from hand to hand. Crowley reluctantly played along, if only because he didn’t want to see that smile leave Aziraphale’s face again.

“Is this your card!?” The angel said smugly.

Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise. “No,” he lied lyingly. 

Aziraphale smirked and put the cards back in the deck and vanished them and shuffled in his seat, seemingly hesitant. “I was thinking...”

“Shall I offer up thanks to the Almighty for finally answering my prayers?” Crowley drawled.

He gave him a scathing side eye and continued, “ _I was thinking...”_ He paused and looked to Crowley who made a _get on with it_ wave that somehow managed to be sarcastic. Aziraphale nodded primly and continued, “It might be nice if we finally went for that picnic. Find a place where we could stretch our legs.” He gazed out over the park, watching all the people milling about. “Somewhere outside of London, a change of pace. Maybe go for a swim? Perhaps the beach? What do you think?” It wasn’t so much a question because the light of hope that shone through Aziraphale’s eyes crumbled Crowley’s ability to even offer up an attempt at something that could be vaguely considered a protest. He made an effort, but it died in his throat as if spoken into the vacuum of space. 

“Ah- Alright, angel.”

“Excellent!” He clasped his hands together, and Crowley watched fondly as Aziraphale began to ramble on about plans. The demon added, ‘mhmms’ and ‘yes, sures’ at the appropriate pauses and let out long-suffering sighs at others, pretending to be resigned to his fate of picnicking, but behind his sunglasses his eyes gleamed with genuine excitement. 

*

They drove south toward the sea, chatting idly about nothing, watching the city slowly fade into country, and by some miracle happened across a beach with not a human soul for miles. 

Not that supernatural beings _need_ it to be, but nevertheless it was a pleasant day and Aziraphale had a pleasant smile plastered to his pleasant face as he laid out a blanket on the sand several yards from the shore. He began unpacking an ostentatious expanse of foodstuffs out of a picnic basket that was much too small to be actually carrying so much, but did because Aziraphale believed that it could. Cheeses and meats and pastries and fruits and a bottle or two of wine. Quite proud of the spread, he looked to Crowley. “My dear,” he gestured to the food with a slight bow. 

“Looks _divine_ ,” he drew the word out with a smirk and sat down and Aziraphale soon followed, fidgeting with the placement of a bowl of grapes before looking quite pleased with himself and plucking one off the stem and plopping it into his mouth. 

The afternoon continued to be pleasant, filled with pleasant food, pleasant wine, and pleasant conversation. When a dent had been made in the food and a bigger dent had been made in the wine, Aziraphale stood up and declared that he was going for a swim. 

“Aren't you supposed to wait 30 minutes after eating?" 

“Oh pish-posh, I’m an angel of the lord. It’s not like I’m in danger of getting a stomach ache.” This was a lie as Aziraphale had gotten plenty of stomach aches before, but none of which really put his life in danger, give or take an improperly prepared fugu.

“Well, if you start to drown, I’m not coming in to rescue you.” Another lie. 

The angel threw him a scathing side eye and removed the rest of his clothing. Crowley turned his head in a way that made it look like he was observing a crab scuttle into the surf, eyes actually not leaving Aziraphale. In a tick Aziraphale was standing there barefooted and wearing only-

“Are those _tartan_ swim trunks?” Crowley actually lifted his sunglasses just to be sure, squinting in disbelief. 

“Yes,” he responded primly, “I thought they looked quite fetching. Wouldn’t you agree?” His gave a little turn and looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. 

Crowley did agree. He did not say as much because he refused to give the angel a fraction of an inch to become smug about it. He merely replaced the sunglasses, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, using the cover of his lens to slide his gaze across the angles on Aziraphale’s body. Admiring each soft line no longer obscured by a tasteless waistcoat or hundred-year old jacket. 

Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot, “Are you going to just stand there, my dear?” Crowley’s train of thought was derailed and hurtled back to the beach where it crashed against the shore much like the wave. Aziraphale was looking expectantly at him and Crowley had no idea what the expectation was. The angel’s eyes were open and unguarded and said so much that Crowley was having a hard time reading them. The opposite of hiding behind curtains, Aziraphale was so open that it became impossible to see any one emotion clearly, constantly cycling and shifting. Crowley did pick up on happiness by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a spark that he could have sworn was mischief. 

“Ehh, I’ll pass.” Crowley leaned back onto his elbows and leisurely reclined. “I’m much more interested in lounging in the sun and staying warm. Snake, you know?” He gestured to the tattoo on the side of his face. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but didn’t press any further, “Have it your way you wily old serpent.” He looked around and, sensing no humans in the vicinity, rolled his shoulders and brought his wings out of the ethereal realm. They fanned out, feathers reaching toward the sky, obscuring the sun but shining with a light entirely their own that radiated over their picnic spot, making Crowley squint even behind his sunglasses before his eyes adjusted. 

The entire beach seemed dim when compared to the illustriousness of the angel’s wings. Crowley became transfixed as Aziraphale hummed a low note of pleasure and stretched his wings out, flapping them to shake lose any stiffness. With one last side-eyed glance at Crowley, he made his way to the beach and waded in the surf slowly making his way to waist deep water. 

Let it be said that even though Aziraphale was an angel and had a holy amount of Grace, that did not actually translate into having _grace_. Crowley didn’t hide his laugh as a wave came up and suddenly crested at chest level, knocking the angel over and leaving him flapping in the surf like a chicken as opposed to the swan that he pretended he was. Crowley called out as much as Aziraphale regained his footing. The glare that Crowley received promised retribution of a celestial magnitude, but for the time being Aziraphale just continued wading through the shallows, only slightly more mindful of the waves. 

Crowley kept a watchful eye on the angel, enjoying the view but pretending to be more interested in the seagulls that flew about or the particular shape of a nearby shell. Eventually though, Crowley laid down on his back, helpless against the alluring heat of the sun on his skin. He began to doze, basking like the snake he was and claimed to be. 

*

Crowley awoke sometime later as a shadow fell over him, blocking the sun’s warmth but a warming presence in some different sense he couldn’t place. He opened a disgruntled eye and saw Aziraphale standing over him, wings dripping with saltwater and beaming with a smile that was inappropriately wicked on an angel’s face. Crowley pushed himself up to his elbows in a panic, eyes now wide open. “Don’t you dare,” he made an attempt to scramble away but not making it very far. “If this is payback for chicken comment-” But it was too late. Aziraphale spread his wings out as far as he could and shook them, sending water all over the surrounding area which, unfortunately, included Crowley. 

As refreshing as the cold water was, it was still _cold._ Which is _unpleasant_ when one is trying to sunbathe. Something Aziraphale was keenly aware of. 

“Nnnghh!” Crowley cried out as Aziraphale let out a delighted laugh that rang like a bell. Crowley scowled and the water that had found its way onto his glasses made itself scarce. 

Still quietly chuckling to himself, Aziraphale brought out another towel, tartan that clashed horribly with his swim trunks, he looked at Crowley as if daring him to say something, and then spread it out a short distance away. He pulled a book out of the picnic basket that should by no means have fit in such a small container and laid down on his stomach to read for awhile. Wings still damp, he spread them out, soaking up the sun like a sponge, his back muscles flexing with every twitch of his wings. 

Sitting there in the sun, watching over the angel, Crowley was overcome by the intense desire to straddle himself over Aziraphale and stroke each and every feather. To feel the divine warmth that radiated off of them. To touch the softness that would make any cloud in the sky jealous. He watched a drop of saltwater trail down the vein of a primary and wished he could taste it, to lick it up before it fell to the sand, wasted. 

Aziraphale shifted and sighed, letting out a quiet groan as he rolled his stretched the wings out further in the sun. Crowley imagined what sounds the angel would make if he were to kiss the space in between his wings, to run his hands through the plumage. He wanted to kiss him and whisper in his ear how beautiful he was, put all his feelings into words, to worship him.

This temptation scorched his very being and left him breathless, afraid of what it meant and what the consequences would be. 

Because it wasn’t just thoughts of lust for the angel that he was feeling, Crowley could have handled that. He was a demon after all, lust was one of the perks. These thoughts ran deeper, into something that felt softer, felt sweeter. Something so sweet and slow that it ran like molasses on a cold day. A word that Crowley refused to admit despite the fact that it was all that was on his mind. 

Love. 

It echoed through his mind and his body and his soul. An entirely unwanted feeling that had spent the better part of 6,000 years repressing, but something had changed since the world hadn't ended and now it demanded to be heard. It screamed at him, voice hoarse as it chanted, _love, love, love, love. You love him._

This wasn’t news to Crowley, he had known at the Garden wall. Felt it bloom as Aziraphale lifted his wing to shield him from that first rain. Such a silly thing to do for a demon, his enemy, his adversary. But it was as if Aziraphale could tell that Crowley’s wings still ached from the Fall, were still damaged and missing feathers, reeking of smoke. As if Aziraphale knew he couldn’t lift them high enough to shield himself. 

The feeling had frightened him then and it frightened him now. 

He looked away from Aziraphale. 

*

After Crowley’s unpleasant realization at the beach, that wasn’t so much a realization as it was a final acceptance of what he had realized awhile back, he started avoiding Aziraphale. Not avoid meeting with him cause that would have been unbearable and impossible, Crowley having become dependent on his company. What he did instead was just refuse to look at the angel, which was unbearable but for the most part possible. 

At the Ritz they would drink and eat and have pleasant conversation but Crowley averted his gaze the entire time, not wanting to slip back into his unwanted thoughts. He refused to look at Aziraphale, refused to see the way his lips curved in a smile, hearing it in his voice was enough of a torture. He didn’t want to see that light in Aziraphale’s eyes or the delicate way his hand wrapped around the stem of his wine glass.

He tried to avoid looking at him as if it would mean he could avoid loving him. 

Crowley always kept his eyes behind Aziraphale, head turned toward him so that there was no visible change in his behavior, that nothing seemed out of the ordinary but the curtain of his glasses were drawn and hiding the yearning in his eyes. 

At the park, they went and watched the ducks and for the first time in his long life, Crowley spent the entire time actually watching them. 

*

Months passed by like this and Crowley grew used to not seeing Aziraphale, he still ached with it and would steal a glance every so often but just filled him with a longing that made his chest seize, that burned him from the inside out.

The season had settled into fall and Crowley found himself moping about his flat on a damp afternoon, waiting for an appropriate time to call Aziraphale and ask him for lunch, not wanting to sound too eager or too disinterested. to be too early or too late. The buzzer sounded and he bolted upright, already knowing who it was. 

He strolled over to the door and opened it and was greeted with a nervous looking Aziraphale. 

“Oh,” Crowley leaned against the door frame, feigning nonchalance, “Angel, so good to see you. I was about to call,” he drawled out casually. 

“I do hope I’m not interrupting,” he fretted and Crowley saw a bottle of something in his hands, “I was… In the neighborhood and figured I’d ask if you’d like a drink.” It was a lame excuse, but there was obviously something on the angel’s mind. He handed the bottle to Crowley who examined it before nodding in approval and opening the door. He gestured inside and Aziraphale gave him a polite but terse smile as he walked in. 

Once through the door, Aziraphale completely forgot about the wine and headed straight for Crowley’s plants as if it were his real reason for visiting all along, obviously stalling. The plants seemed to preen as he neared them, feeling the warmth that radiated off of him a welcome relief from Crowley’s wrath. 

“Oh Tabitha! You are looking so beautiful, my dear, that shade of green is quite becoming of you.” Aziraphale fawned over the fern and softly stroked a leaf.

“ _Don’t coddle them,”_ Crowley hissed, setting down the bottle and picking up the mister. He spritzed the plant in question, who didn’t even have the good sense to tremble. 

“He’s quite grumpy, isn’t he?” Aziraphale stage whispered to the plant, nerves temporarily forgotten. 

Crowley simply pointed the mister at Aziraphale’s face and pulled the trigger, letting a fine mist of water cover Aziraphale’s smug face which shifted into indignant shock as he let out a scandalized gasp. 

Crowley made a mistake and reflexively looked up at the sound. Warmth bloomed in his chest and he realized how much he had missed _seeing_ Aziraphale, missed his expressive eyes and round cheeks. Fondness overtook him and his stomach did a not unpleasant flip.

Crowley was distracted, but Aziraphale quickly recovered and with a snap, the mister was in his hand. 

“Now, angel. Let’s not do anything too hasty…” Crowley put his hands up in defense and took a step back, “How are we to know that water isn’t holy now that you have it?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, knowing as well as Crowley that was not how holy water worked, and sprayed Crowley in the face.

Immediately Crowley fell to his knees and let out a dramatic wail. He withered and cried out, “I have been done in! By that which I used to call friend.” He then fell to his side and laid still. 

Aziraphale didn’t even have the decency to act concerned. He merely rolled his eyes, “Oh, good _lord.”_

Crowley stayed still for a beat before he smirked and got back onto his feet. He dried off his sunglasses with the corner of his shirt, eyes downcast and refusing to look towards Aziraphale until they were back on and even then they were still focused on whatever in the room that was not Aziraphale, who had begun to frown, unbeknownst to Crowley. 

Picking up the mister, Crowley turned towards Tabitha to resume his watering regiment. He noticed Aziraphale had grown quiet and looked over his shoulder, all for show of course, he still wouldn’t meet the angel’s eyes. 

“So what’s on your mind? Just come here to compliment my plants and make them soft?” There was the hint of a smile on his lips.

All he got in response was a huff and Crowley frowned, sensing that something was off. He set the mister down and turned fully towards Aziraphale, gaze fixed just over his shoulder. Aziraphale bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows, hesitant, but attempted to ask anyways, “Well, it’s just that- well, I noticed-erm- hmm. I don’t mean to be rude-”

“Out with it, angel!” Crowley crossed his arms impatiently, rolling his eyes for good measure. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath before speaking, “Why won’t you look at me?” His voice sounded desperate and confused, as he took a step towards Crowley who took a step back in shock, “Have I done something wrong?” 

Crowley almost screamed at the way Aziraphale’s voice cracked. He wasn’t meant to notice. How could he have noticed?

“What are you on about? I’m looking at you right now.” Crowley certainly appeared to be looking at Aziraphale, his face was angled as if he were but his gaze was still fixed on the wall behind him.

“No you’re not. You’re looking past me.” 

“And how are you so clever as to know where exactly I’m looking,” he snapped and tapped a finger to his sunglasses. 

There was a beat of silence, as if Aziraphale was picking every word out and making sure they were the right ones, “Those glasses... do as much to hide your eyes from me as a pane of glass would stop a boulder.” 

“Pardon?” Crowley was proud at how calm and level-headed he sounded, when really he was overcome by such an overwhelming panic that it circled back twice over and back to calm. “What do you mean?”

Aziraphale gestured around the room with a big wave almost frantically, “I _always_ see it when you look at me. Well, _see_ is perhaps not the best word, _perceive_ is probably more apt. I don’t need to see your eyes to know when you’re looking at me. Which is why I want to know what it is that I have done that makes it so hard for you to _look at me.”_

Crowley let out a stream of aborted noises, making sounds that wouldn’t make sense to anyone let alone the celestial being in front of him. He should have known better, Aziraphale was a being that could _sense love_ and Crowley had been in love for quite some time. He should have figured out by now that sunglasses would do nothing to stop that feeling from pouring out for the angel to read as easy as one of his books. Aziraphale had been kind enough to not bring it up, to just let them go on being friends, not wanting to hurt Crowley’s feelings. But now Crowley had hurt Aziraphale’s feelings by being too much of a coward to face him.

Crowley finally, _finally_ , turned his eyes to the angel’s and his heart twisted at the way they were shining with tears. He almost reached out a hand reflexively, wanting to offer comfort, but he stopped himself, just barely, hand twitching at his side. 

Aziraphale pressed further, “Crowley, _please_. Just tell me what it is. I can’t apologize for something if I don’t know what it is that I’ve done.” His voice was pleading now, desperate for an answer. 

_What_ he’s _done!_ The voice in Crowley’s head screamed at him. _You’ve made him think that he’s the one who’s done something wrong._

“Nothing. You’ve done nothing.” Now that he was looking at him he couldn’t tear his gaze away, watching Aziraphale’s shoulders drop in desperation.

“Then what is it that I haven’t done?” 

“No! You don’t understand. It’s not your fault I just- I’m-” He trailed off, not knowing how to turn his feelings into words. It was building in his chest and he was quickly losing control. He tried to hold back but the feeling was so long buried that the pressure had built into an unstoppable force. 

“I don’t under-”

“I love you! Alright? I said it,” Crowley’s throat burned with the words but the dam had been burst and he was helpless against its stream and he began to babble like a brook, “I’ve been in love with you for years and it scares me in a way that nothing ever has. I’m afraid of what it means and of what you’ll say and how you’ll cast me aside and then I’ll be left with _nothing_. Do you hear me, angel? You’re all that I have and I can’t lose you, not again!” Tears were welling up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. 

The silence that filled the room was deafening. It made Crowley’s ears ring and he watched as Aziraphale’s face became unreadable, closed itself off and offered Crowley nothing. No glimpse into what he was thinking. Time stretched and they both stood there looking at each other. Crowley was breathing heavy if he had ran up a flight of stares. Aziraphale began to furrow his eyebrows, some emotion flickering in his eyes but Crowley still didn’t know what it was.

“Do you- Do you not realize I feel the same way?” He took a step forward and the emotion in his eyes became clearer and Crowley could have smacked himself for not seeing it sooner, what idiots they’d both been. “Crowley, I- I love you with everything that I have, everything that I am. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it with words. My darling, my _darling,_ I’m sorry I go so slowly, I was afraid and didn’t want to lose you either.” 

Crowley let out a shaky breath, eyes wide and searching through Aziraphale’s for any sense of deception or pity. He found none, he knew he wouldn’t. They both stood on the precipice of something they had been headed towards for thousands of years. 

Aziraphale took a step forward, so they were finally toe to toe, and lifted a hand to caress against the frames of Crowley’s sunglasses, he took a deep breath before speaking, “I’ve always hated those glasses. I understand that they hide you from humans but when we’re alone I must admit I resent them.” His hand lingered as he looked directly through the lenses into Crowley’s eye, “They don’t hide your eyes so much as…tint them. Which is a shame as I quite like your eyes. The color of them. They look the way sunshine feels. They’re much more beautiful though.”

“No they aren’t, they’re _wretched_.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, as if to prevent evidence to the contrary.

“Not to me they aren’t.” It was whispered like a prayer, a promise. 

Aziraphale lifted his other hand to Crowley’s face, “May I?” he asked so reverently, with such care and all Crowley could do was give a terse nod, unable to make his throat work, so close to what he had wanted. Then, gently, so gently, Aziraphale removed the sunglasses, setting them down on the plant stand with a soft clack that made Crowley flinch. 

Moving slowly as if trying not to frighten a spooked horse, Aziraphale brought his hands back up and cupped his cheeks and stroked his thumbs over his cheekbones reverently. The hands radiated a warmth that sunk deep into Crowley’s skin. 

With Crowley’s eyes still screwed shut, Aziraphale leaned closer and placed a kiss on his left eyelid. Lips lingering there for a few moments. Crowley drew in a sharp breath. Another kiss, this time on the right. More tender than any demon had a right to be treated. The angel rested his forehead against his. Crowley drew in a shaky breath that he took from Aziraphale’s mouth, inches away from his own. His face relaxed but his eyes remained closed, afraid of what he would see when he opened them, afraid of what he would show when he opened them.

They stayed like that for one minute and thirty-nine seconds. To them it felt both like a fraction of a second but also longer than the 6,000 years they’ve existed. Time passed in a way that only they could define, rules of the universe forgotten. Then, slowly, Crowley opened his eyes.

All he saw was starlight. He saw the universe and every star in it, the ones he himself had made. Up this close Crowley saw how inhuman Aziraphale’s eyes really were, an unearthly glow to the blue, the depth of them unfathomable. Entire galaxies on display. Crowley couldn’t help but let a few tears of awe slip down his cheeks, overwhelmed by what he saw, _love, devotion, worship_. Crowley drank it all in.

Aziraphale swept his tears away with this thumb, and smiled indulgently, “There you are, my love.” The stars in his eyes glowed brighter than before. 

“Aziraphale…” The words still wouldn’t come to Crowley. There was so much to say and not enough words to say them. He leaned forward, eyes still open, and pressed their lips together. 

It felt not so much like the earth shattering into a million pieces but rather like a million shattered pieces coming together, something that was already familiar. As if they’d been doing this for years already. They fit together perfectly. 

Crowley closed his eyes and surged up, wanting to be closer, to get lost in the feeling of Aziraphale’s soft lips against his own. Aziraphale’s hands slid from Crowley’s cheeks, one behind his neck and the other cradling the back of his head, drawing him closer. 

Crowley scrambled and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, holding on as if lost in a hurricane, getting lost in the push and pull of each others lips.

After awhile they reluctantly broke apart, not needing to breathe but nevertheless needing to catch their breath. 

“So, you’ve been able to tell the entire time?” Crowley tried to ask nonchalantly as his cheeks flushed at the thought of every glance he had ever given Aziraphale. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Does that bother you?” A kiss to the other side. 

“No. I don’t mind.” he responded, leaning into the touch like a vine towards the sun. 

“I do admit it can be quite distracting at times, like for example,” he pulled back and looked behind Crowley into the middle distance, “When I’m reading at the beach...” He trailed off, feigning innocence but missing it by at least a quarter mile.

Crowley sputtered and flushed but Aziraphale only widened his smile. “I do believe we have some time to make up for.” He kissed him sweetly on the lips and took a step back, towards Crowley’s bedroom, and reached his hand out to Crowley. 

If eyes are the window to the soul then an apt comparison would be hands are the doors. You could continue the metaphor to what hair and ears and toes are but for this moment you only need to know that right now, the door to Aziraphale’s soul was open and inviting, a silent offer. 

Crowley grabbed his hand and took a step forward, unguarded eyes locked on his angel, windows wide open.


End file.
